


The Goosening

by big_zs_d_stan



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Coffee Shops, Crack, Gangsters, Geese, Gen, Gun Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 00:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17335235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/big_zs_d_stan/pseuds/big_zs_d_stan
Summary: It was a cold, gloomy, dark, broody and other numerous adjectives kind of day outside in Boston, which was the perfect day for staying indoors.





	The Goosening

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to aitch gang. yeet!

It was a cold, gloomy, dark, broody and other numerous adjectives kind of day outside in Boston, which was the perfect day for staying indoors.

Sat on an uncomfortable chair in the world’s least busy cafe was ice hockey superstar Danton, the coffee cup in his hand looking like a thimble in comparison to his big meaty claws. The baristas had messed up his order, putting too much cream in his coffee, though he was too passive to ask them to fix it. Instead, he suffered through the milky concoction, while his good friend Chris sat across from him, talking endlessly.

Chris was a special guy, to say the least. When he wasn’t busy body slamming people into various surfaces, he was usually talking about his favorite television show, Peaky Blinders. Not that Danton minded, because every Bruin watched the show (it was a legal requirement after all), but it was getting a little out of hand. This paired with the fact that he had recently been passed down the job of Mayor of Walpole from his uncle meant that he had many wild ideas racing through his small monkey brain.

“I was thinking,” Chris spoke up excitedly, his styrofoam coffee cup crushing under his grip. The brown liquid was starting to seep out and on to the table. “What I could do is completely revert the city of Walpole back to the age of 1920’s gangsterism. Would people die? Yes. But would we all get to LARP 24/7? Also yes.”

Dan had started to completely zone out of the conversation, as usual. His gaze was empty as he stared past his teammate, eyes blinking one at a time. He wished Sean was there to liven up the conversation, or at least to change to topic to anything other than roaring twenties era Britain. Ah, Sean… now that was something he liked to think about. 

Chris, who was visibly agitated that he was being ignored, jumped out of his chair and hopped up on to the table. It did not take much these days to set him off, as he claimed it was part of his new mobster temperament. The employees glanced over, almost convinced they should call the authorities, but they realized they weren’t paid enough to care.

“Do I even exist to you?” The gangster/mayor yelled at the top of his lungs, flailing his arms around. “Are you not entertained? How about you start a conversation for once! I have to do all the work in this friendship.”

Dan was going to reply that the only reason he never started conversations was because Chris had never given him a chance, with his constant blabbing about guns and the Queen of England, but he decided to let it go. He wanted to talk about his favorite subject in the world, that being Sean’s chin, but decided he would be genuine and share something that was bothering him instead.

“So I’ve been having this problem lately.” Dan muttered as loud as his voice would let him. It ended up sounding something like a bass guitar hooked up to a broken amplifier. He waited as Chris struggled to get down from the table. “It all started during me and Sean’s naptime.”

“You guys take naps at the same time?” Chris asked in disbelief, while simultaneously fixing his fedora.

“All best friends take naps together in the same bed, don’t be weird about it man.” 

Though the more Danton thought about it, he wasn’t sure if it was something friends did, or if he and Sean were more than friendly. The cuddling that came alongside naptime was just platonic, and him giving kisses to Sean’s mask before every game were only for good luck.

“In the same bed?” Chris guffawed- yes, he was guffawing now, “Alright man, but if you ever bring him around Walpole, just know that there will be a strict anti-condom rule. All gangsters are devout Catholics, so that means absolutely no protection is allowed. ‘Live by Syphilis, Die by Syphilis,’ that’s what they say in Peaky Blinders anyway-”

“It’s not like that!” He half-shouted back, remembering to remain courteously quiet in public at all times. He had gone over his allowed number of decibels, and was starting to regret bringing it up in the first place. “This is serious stuff. He’s starting to honk in his sleep.”

Dan remembered it like it was yesterday (though that was probably because it had happened yesterday). It was early morning, and the blissful sunlight was starting to peek through the windows. He was laying on his side, admiring a sleeping Sean’s chin, when an ear-shattering honking sound blasted out through the room. The noise was so shocking that he almost fell off the bed.

He had figured most rationally that there was a loose goose somewhere in the apartment, and so went in search for the dastardly bird. Every cabinet was opened and every drawer was upended, yet there was no fowl to be found. Only when he turned back to continue his Sean-gazing did he observe that as his subject’s chest rose and fell, soft honks accompanied it.

“Wow.” Chris noted, his face drained of color. “Honking in his sleep? That’s serious stuff.”

“You think so?” He was getting nervous at the thought. It was hard to imagine that the honking meant something serious, but the other half of his brain was telling him that Sean could transform into a goose at any minute and fly away.

For a moment, Chris seriously considered it. All of his two brain cells had begun to go into overdrive from this contemplation, but he ultimately came to a conclusion. “Absolutely not. He’s probably got a cold or something.”

The door of the cafe in front of them opened at that moment, a burst of bright blue light blinding them. It was so painful that Chris had to cover his own eyes with his fedora, but Dan could only look on tearfully. 

Emerging from this light was a goose, its feathers pristine white. The goose had a fishbowl over its head, one that looked sparkly and clear, a high-quality bowl that was clearly made out of glass and not plastic. It walked past the two boys, and up to the register, honking at the baristas obnoxiously as if it were trying to order a coffee.

There was a certain look in the goose’s eye, a look of passion and excitement that was so familiar. It’s honks were low and gravelly as well, reminiscent of a certain player’s postgame interviews. As Dan and Chris made horrified eye contact, they were sure that Sean had transformed into a goose, this same goose in the cafe with them. The feeling was almost as terrifying as finding out Kampfer was in the lineup before a game.

“What do we do?” Chris whispered, leaning forward to make sure the goose didn’t hear him. He didn’t know if the goose still understood English, but he wasn’t taking any chances. “Should I shoot it?” 

“You can’t shoot it! My boyfr- best friend is in the body of that goose!” He chuckled nervously, though he could sense Chris was rolling his eyes. 

“Gangsters don’t mess with witchcraft shit like this. I’m blowing this bird away, right here, right now.” With this, the gangster/mayor raised his old-timey pistol up in the air, aimed directly at the goose. Where he had suddenly materialized the gun nobody was sure, maybe it was a trick he had learned from Peaky Blinders.

Like a slow motion scene in an action movie, Dan had jumped out in front of the goose, in hopes he could convince him to put the gun away. But it was too late, and as he jumped through the air, the gun fired off with a loud blast. (Authors note: for the best possible experience, listen to the “Mmm Whatcha Say” song while reading this section.)

When Dan looked down, he found a bullet hole in his chest, approximately the size of the hole in a Dunkin Donuts brand donut.

“Oh my god,” He gasped, trying to plug the hole with his aforementioned big meaty claws. “You shot me.”

It was no use though, as the red elite juice spilled out of his body at alarming rates. The goose beside him, saved by his heroic act, looked on with a worried expression on its face. It could only honk out in pain as the light seemed to drain from his eyes.

When Danton looked up for the last time, Chris was nowhere to be seen. He had been abandoned by his own friend and accidental murderer, who was probably off starting his life as an official gangster.

And then he died.

**Author's Note:**

> LOOOOOOL let me know what you think >:-)


End file.
